A plea for emotional intelligence, accountability, and healing in churches especially in Africa
Dear Church in Africa,
This is not a rebuke. It’s a plea.
Not from a perfect voice, but from a watchman who’s seen the wounded limp away from altars that should have healed them.
We are rich in revelation—but poor in compassion.
Strong in power—but weak in presence.
We’ve mastered honor, but forgotten empathy.
We exalt spiritual rank, but neglect emotional depth.
The pews are full—but the people are bleeding quietly.
Why? Because the pulpit has power, but often lacks emotional intelligence.
You have turned shepherds into sovereigns.
To question them is rebellion. To disagree is dishonor.
So correction becomes humiliation.
Discipleship becomes domination.
And the flock learns to trade their honesty for survival.
They dance, but they’re drowning.
They serve, but they’re silenced.
They carry Bibles, but bury their wounds—because the altar no longer has room for weakness.
Take Kilma, a devoted lay leader in a West African Neo-Pentecostal church.
When his marriage began to fracture, he turned to his pastors for help.
But instead of empathy and wisdom, they offered only spiritual clichés:
“Pray more.”
“Don’t let the enemy in.”
“Submit or suffer.”
No counseling. No accountability. No real care.
Within months, his ten-year marriage collapsed.
The pulpit that declared breakthroughs never spoke of the breakdown.
A young woman’s mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Her church, fervent in prophecy but blind to pain, condemned any mention of death as doubt.
They promised healing. They refused lament.
And when the healing didn’t come?
They blamed her.
Said her mother died because she didn’t believe enough.
She didn’t leave the church because she stopped believing in God.
She left because her pain had no place in a house that only accepted praise.
You don’t cast out trauma. You process it.
You don’t rebuke grief. You sit with it.
The Spirit is not just wind and fire. He is also water and wine.
Many leaders were elevated before they were healed.
Crowned without being counseled.
So they lead through the lens of their own unspoken wounds.
They confuse emotional detachment with spiritual maturity.
They spiritualize abuse and call it structure.
They ignore tears and call it toughness.
But we were never called to be emotionally numb—we were called to be whole.
And no, the blame isn’t only on the pulpit.
We—the people—also reward charisma over character.
We idolize spiritual fathers. We confuse hype with holiness.
We shout for mantles, but stay silent about manipulation.
We too must grow.
We must hunger for more than miracles.
We must desire emotional honesty and accountability, not just fire and tongues.
It looks like a pastor saying, “I don’t know, but I’ll walk with you.”
It looks like leaders who don’t weaponize the pulpit.
It looks like sermons that speak to brokenness, not just breakthrough.
It looks like altars where confession is safe—not a trapdoor for gossip.
Because emotional intelligence doesn’t dilute the Spirit—it reveals Him more deeply.
He’s not only the wind. He is also the dove.
The African Church is powerful. Prophetic. Passionate.
But if we don’t grow emotionally, we will lose the next generation.
They’re not just asking, “Is it true?”
They’re asking, “Is it safe here?”
Let our churches become safe again.
Let leaders be human again.
Let the Spirit heal not just bodies—but hearts.
Because revival without emotional healing… is just noise.
Want to respond to this letter or share your story?
I believe the Church heals best when we listen and walk together. If this letter stirred something in you, I invite you to reach out or leave a comment below. Your story matters.
